


Loss

by Jeneeness



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeneeness/pseuds/Jeneeness
Summary: An outbreak has crumbled society as they know it, and an odd group of six humans banded together to survive. While tensions run high, it is still possible to find light in the dark. Phichit Chulanont possessed a smile rivaling the sun in it's brightness, powerful enough ti shine through the dark turmoil brought by Earth's impending apocolypse. With danger left and right, who will, or won't make it out alive?





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

> My goal is to make you cry. Slight mention of blood. And of course...  
> Death.

Phichit awoke to Chris’ hands cold on his face, green eyes shining in panic. The world spun as his head burned, pain pulsing from his covered hand. He cooed in a mix of Thai and feverish gibberish, fawning over Chris.

Chris lifted Phichit's hand gently, gasping as the Thai yanked it away, “You look like you have a fever. You said the cut on your hand was small, it might be infected. Let me see your hand,” he swallowed as he slid his fingers under his hand, pouting when it was taken away again. “Phichit!” Chris scolded.

“Nooo,” Phichit protested weakly, “It fine.”

Panic mounted at Phichit's refusal and Chris seized him by the wrist, and unwrapped the bandages and cloth, soaked through with sweat and blood. He muttered his displeasure at the soiled wraps, falling silent as he appraised the torn skin of his palm. Pieces began to click together, every detail falling into place. Chris’ face was frozen in shock, as tears streamed down his face. Phichit had been bit. He was dying.

“I tried,” Phichit mumbled quietly, eyes closed, smiling weakly.

“Tried what,” Chris sniffed, heat burning in his eyes, his throat threatening to close.

Phichit was fading fast, already falling asleep again, too weak to elaborate. His head fell limp to the side, his breathing shallow.

Chris seized his head quickly, sitting him upright, “Tell me what happened! How did this happen,” he shouted, rousing the attention of a few others. Chris heart pounded, and his breaths evaded him, until he was gasping.

Phichit licked his lips, “When you, fell,” he paused, as if it expelled too much energy to speak. “I pushed,” he explained in a whisper, outstretching his hand and mimicking a swinging, pushing motion.

Chris remembered now. There was a horde, small in number, but faster in the way they moved. The two were separated from the other four, and they barely escaped at every turn. They climbed a ladder, and Phichit being faster, climbed up first and Chris followed. In Chris’ haste, his sneaker slipped on the ladder’s rung. The horde approached quickly, one tackling Chris nearly instantly when he had recovered. Phichit jumped down and pushed him away by the head, no doubt the moment the zombie took a bite from his hand. The memory burned behind his eyes, as sobs wracked his frame, “It's my fault.”

“Shuddup,” Phichit chuckled softly, reaching for Chris with his uninjured hand.

“You shut up! Why are you laughing?” Chris asked, failing in attempts to keep his hysterics quiet, “You're dying, it's not funny!”

“You're funny,” Phichit giggled.

Chris dug the heel of his hands into his eyes. Phichit's brightness even in death, mocking him. He shouldn't be the one dying.

“He can't be saved at this point,” a cold voice uttered behind Chris.

Chris didn't need to turn to know the cold voice of reason belonged to Seung-Gil, “I know,” he gasped, more tears dripping onto his knees.

Seung-Gil shifted on his feet, unsure on how to deal with another's grief, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don't talk about him like he's already dead!” Chris snapped, turning wildly.

“He's only lasted this long through sleep, slowing his blood flow, slowing the infection, and his stubbornness,” Seung-Gil retorted, “He is as good as dead. The sooner you accept it, the better it will be.” He turned on his heel, assuring the others there was nothing to worry about.

Chris turned back to Phichit, soft grey eyes on him under hooded lids, “You know what happens right,” he rasped.

Phichit nodded, “Someone. Else.”

Chris looked over at the others, “Someone else what?”

Laboriously, he pointed to his forehead between his eyes, “Not you.”

Chris nodded in understanding, knowing he wouldn't have it in him to end Phichit's misery, “Does it hurt?”

Phichit chuckled weakly, having been numbed by the pain itself, “No.”

A small smile of relief twitched at the corners of Chris’ lips, fading quickly, “That's good. It… it won't be the same… without you,” he swallowed, trying to control the falling tears. Chris reached forward, wiping a slow falling tear from Phichit's burning cheek. “It's okay, I'm here. Until the last second,” he assured softly.

Phichit caught Chris’ hand before it nearly slipped away, the skin hot and moist to the touch against Chris’, yet as soft and welcoming as before.

Chris abandoned the first aid supplies, moving to sit beside Phichit. They spoke of memories from before the outbreak. Shenanigans in the midst of the apocalypse. They laughed. They cried. Until Phichit began to grow quieter. And quieter.

A final, silent tear slid from Phichit's eye, because he knew, when Chris moved reluctantly from his side, that it was time. Seung-Gil had been more than patient, prolonging the inevitable, despite the risk that his lingering death caused. Chris wrapped his arms firmly around Phichit's shoulders, embracing him for the last time, committing his warmth and smell to memory. He pressed a soft kiss on his dry lips, and resting his forehead against the other. Chris strained his ears, aching to hear Phichit’s shallow breathing, and the sobbing began again when he realized he couldn't hear it…

Because it had stopped.

“Chris,” Seung-Gil called quietly, “He's gone. Join the others outside.”

Chris nodded, running a hand through the raven black hair he loved to play with in the rare and cherished times of leisure, before rising to his feet. Without Chris’ support, Phichit slid along the wall to the floor like a ragdoll, wrecking the last shred of Chris’ resolve.

Seung-Gil swallowed, cocking his gun. Eyes hard on the lifeless body of one of the few humans he could call a friend, while Chris’ choked cries filled the room, “Outside, Chris,” he ordered.

Chris peeled his eyes away, storming from the shed before he could look back. He concentrated on his footsteps, wood thumping against his feet, followed by the crunch of earth as he forced his feet to carry him away.

The gunshot pierced the silence, echoing through the forest. Reverberating through his mind. Through his heart. It echoed in his head long after Seung-Gil joined them, his face expressionless, “We need to move. The gunshot will no doubt attract unwanted attention.”

The world continued around Chris in slow motion, muffled and distorted as if he were spectating underwater, until an unexpected hand on his rested on shoulder, startled by the sudden touch.

Seung-Gil stopped Chris as the rest moved forward. He stared at the ground between their feet, visibly struggling with the words on his tongue.

“You don't have to say anything,” Chris said quietly, his voice strained and hoarse from crying.

“Under different circumstances, I would have proposed a proper burial, but… Our memory of him will have to be enough.”

“His memory is all I have. And this,” Chris removed an IPhone from his pocket, “It doesn't have service, but we took a lot of pictures.”

Seung-Gil’s eye twitched, “How is it charged?”

Chris smiled fondly, “Charging stations at hospitals.”

“The end of the world won't be the same without him,” Seung-Gil shook his head.

**Author's Note:**

> So?  
> Did you cry?


End file.
